


Defeat

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Betrayal, Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, Humiliation, M/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwood won, and now he's making an example of Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [shkinkmeme](http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/) [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/5516.html?thread=9574796#t9574796): _After Blackwood won, Lestrade and Clarky and quite a bit of Scotland yard stood against him. Those who were captured rather than killed were locked away with water and a bit of bread and then hauled out, gagged, and bound to seats in a circular room._
> 
>  _In the middle of the room, Holmes is brought in, stripped, gagged, and chained in a kneeling position. As a show of power in front of the yard (and Watson), Blackwood fucks Holmes, ever so slowly, and with everyone gagged the only sound in the room is flesh on flesh, with Blackwood bringing Holmes off at the end, leaving him covered in cum, tears on his face, chained in the middle of the room with the last of the yard loyal to him (and Watson?) around him._

"Gentlemen."

Blackwood. Of course it was Blackwood. Lestrade glared behind his blindfold and would have spit at the wretch if he weren't gagged.

"I apologise for this belated welcome; I have had pressing matters to attend to of late. I do hope you have found the accommodations to your satisfaction."

Accommodations. Now that took nerve. Solitary cells, crusts of bread, and slimy water do not 'accommodations' make.

"I am sorry the blindfolds were necessary, but there are a few of you that still labor under the delusion that escape is possible."

The low laugh that followed this statement was enough to curdle one's blood.

"You will soon be convinced otherwise." Blackwood cleared his throat and there was the sound of swishing robes. "Your blindfolds will now be taken off; yes, you may take a moment to take a good look around you."

The first thing Lestrade saw after the dark fabric was removed was Blackwood, arrayed in his ornate robes with a smug look on his face. He quickly looked away, sizing up the room and the others with him. There were thirteen including himself, bound to chairs in a semicircle along the wall of a circular room, of which Blackwood currently occupied the center. Robed and hooded men stood beside each bound man, but for what purpose Lestrade did not wish to guess. His fellow prisoners looked the worse for wear, particularly Watson, who was haggard and pale; the scoundrels had probably singled him out for special 'attention' in their attempts to locate Holmes. The rest of them, loyal police officers all, were exchanging looks and nods as they acknowledged each other.

"You are the only ones left of your little resistance." A dramatic pause, as Blackwood relished the expressions of horror on his audience's faces. "No, I'm sorry, there was one other. It is on his account that I have gathered you here today." Blackwood turned and beckoned, and a pair of hooded figures entered the room, dragging a limp man face-down between them. The man was draped in one of the Order's robes and his face was hidden, but Blackwood's words made it clear who they were to assume it was.

The limp figure was cast at Blackwood's feet, and the hooded men retreated from the room. Blackwood nudged the figure with his toe, a look of disgust on his face. "It appears we will have to wait a few minutes to proceed. In the meantime, let there be no doubt as to who he is." He stooped and pulled the hood from the slack face, then continued to pull the robe away to display the man's nakedness underneath.

If Lestrade had any doubts as to whether Blackwood were truly capable of capturing Holmes, Watson's horrified gasp through his gag was sufficient proof. Blackwood had captured Holmes, and was now displaying him like a naked trophy.

Holmes groaned and began to stir. He lifted his head and blinked, then tried to push himself up with his hands, pausing confusedly when he realized they were handcuffed. Only at that point did he really look around him, taking in the bound and gagged watchers, his own bonds, and the fact that he was stark naked. "How good of you to join us," Blackwood purred, then grabbed Holmes' hair and his gag and yanked him up onto his knees.

"Look, Holmes, at those who are still loyal to you. See their sympathy, their anger on your behalf. Enjoy it while it lasts; it won't for much longer," Blackwood hissed into Holmes' ear, loud enough for the whole room to hear. Then he raised his voice. "We had a private conversation earlier," he said, one finger stroking the edge of a bad bruise on Holmes' cheek, "but the final act requires an audience to demonstrate what becomes of those who defy me: capture, abuse, and humiliation. You will long for death, and that is the one thing that will be held out of your reach." Blackwood let his words sink in, then shifted and backhanded Holmes with such force that he nearly fell over and had to catch himself awkwardly with his hands.

Two of the robed guards stepped forward and fastened shackles to Holmes' ankles; Lestrade couldn't see the end of the chains from his position, but assumed they must be attached to the floor. He was quickly growing uncomfortable with what this portended, particularly when Blackwood left the room briefly and returned attired only in a long black silk garment that looked suspiciously like a nightshirt.

He stood next to the hunched Holmes and announced, "From this point forward, gentlemen, I require that you keep your eyes focused here. If you have trouble with this task, one of my men will assist you." He gripped the back of Holmes' head again and forced him to look to the side in an illustration of the form this 'assistance' would take.

"Now let us begin." He stepped in front of Holmes and compelled him to kneel up, both hands clutching a handful of his hair even after he did so. Lestrade couldn't tell from his angle what, exactly, Blackwood was doing, but it involved much hip-shifting on Blackwood's part and lasted for what must have been several minutes.

When Blackwood finally stepped aside, Holmes' face was pale and his expression stricken. He didn't seem to know where to look, his eyes first darting to Watson, then Constable Clark on Watson's left, then to Lestrade on Watson's right. Lestrade nodded slightly to him, trying to be encouraging without incurring Blackwood's wrath. Holmes' dark eyes were wide with knowing and -was it possible?- dread.

Holmes' eyes closed and an involuntary whimper rose in his throat. Blackwood had knelt behind him and pressed in close, wrapping his arms around Holmes to stroke his bare chest. One hand tweaked a nipple, then grabbed one of Holmes' wrists and held it firmly against his chest; the other slid down and firmly grasped Holmes' cock, squeezing it momentarily before holding out his hand, palm up. One of his robed followers stepped forward and poured something -oil?- into the waiting palm, then stepped back again.

Blackwood grasped Holmes' cock again, this time sliding up and down its length, tightening and loosening his hand as he stroked it into an aroused state. Holmes squirmed, trying to escape the insistent hand, his eyes darting wildly around the room, but Blackwood held him tightly, mercilessly. And Holmes' body responded, despite the obvious distress it caused him, until he looked to be achingly hard.

Blackwood held out his hand again, and this time he was given a length of leather. This he quickly tightened around the base of Holmes' cock, then surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. He ran his hands over Holmes' body possessively and bit his shoulder.

Lestrade wholeheartedly cursed Blackwood and his insistence that they watch Holmes' humiliation, and grasped at any opportunity to think of something else. Blackwood's hands on Holmes elicited the observation that life on the outside had not been any kinder to Holmes than life in captivity had been to Lestrade and the others -Holmes was painfully thin, his ribs showing far too prominently through a thin coating of skin where before they had been covered with a layer of formidable muscle as well.

Holmes was also covered in developing bruises, quickly-darkening blotches liberally scattered across his torso and limbs. Some of the blotches looked suspiciously like boot-prints; the man had been quite thoroughly beaten. While Holmes could probably have seen such bruises and correctly identified the height and stature of the person or persons who inflicted them, Lestrade noticed that the placement was primarily to inflict pain, not deeper injury. But why hold back?

"You will see that I am not without mercy." Blackwood's voice drew Lestrade from his reverie. Blackwood held up his right hand, its fingers coated in what was likely more oil, then lowered it again, appearing to focus his attention on Holmes' back.

Part of Lestrade wondered what he was doing. The other part was grateful he didn't have to watch. Then Holmes gasped and his hips jerked forward briefly before he hunched forward and the position of Blackwood's hands made it clear just what he was doing.

Blackwood wound the hand that wasn't fingering Holmes' arse around Holmes' chest and pulled him up again. "You will watch their faces and allow them to watch yours," he commanded, then smirked. "Well, well, what have we here?" he asked as his hand slid down Holmes' chest to where Holmes' hands were clumsily trying to remove the leather band around his cock. Blackwood hooked his fingers around the chain of the handcuffs and yanked the hands up. "You are not to interfere. I thought I made that clear in our . . . interview earlier."

Holmes swallowed, his teeth grinding into his gag. Blackwood jerked his head and a robed man appeared from the doorway, a riding crop in hand. He took hold of the handcuffs and pulled Holmes' arms out while Blackwood pressed him from behind until he was bent at the hips, his forehead touching the cold floor and his arms stretched out in front of him. "No noise, or you will suffer the consequences," Blackwood warned Holmes' back, then looked up at his prisoners. "The same applies to you. No noise, or he will be punished for your disobedience."

The lackey knelt next to Holmes' outstretched arms and began methodically whipping his hands with the riding crop. Lestrade felt himself jump at the sound of the first few strokes; next to him, Watson was struggling against his bonds and breathing heavily, trying to hold back his anger for Holmes' sake. Holmes moaned as the first blows fell on his fingers, quivering with the pain of his hands and the discomfort of Blackwood's fingers in his rectum.

When Holmes' hands were red and starting to ooze blood in several spots, the crop was applied to his arms, slowly working from wrist to elbow. Blackwood continued roughly manipulating Holmes with his fingers until the strokes of the crop reached Holmes' elbows, then he withdrew his hand and gestured to his lackey, who rose to his feet. "Very good. Now to be certain that the lesson has sunk in . . ." The man lifted one booted foot and brought his heel down hard on Holmes' right hand.

Watson nearly overturned his chair in his fury, growling through his gag and fighting his restraints with such fervor that Lestrade wouldn't have been surprised if he managed to break free. His assigned guard hooked an arm around his neck and pulled back, keeping Watson in his chair and threatening to choke him if he didn't cease his struggles. When Watson calmed, another gag was tied over his mouth. Lestrade observed this from the corner of his eye, and, upon catching a glimpse of the face in the hood, was unsurprised to see that Watson's guard, who seemed to delight in keeping him helpless, was none other than Lord Coward.

During the disturbance Blackwood didn't so much as glance in Watson's direction, preoccupied with manhandling his captive upright and hooking his handcuffed hands behind his head. He waited until Watson had settled, then said, "I said there was to be no noise. Holmes almost obeyed. Some of you did not." His gaze fixed on Watson. "As promised, there will be consequences." He reached up and held Holmes' left hand firmly, then unflinchingly bent the first finger back until it broke.

Holmes bit his lips until they bled, unbidden tears streaming down his face, as he tried to maintain his composure despite this new wave of pain. Watson paled until he was nearly grey when Blackwood broke the middle finger as well, the snap of bone audible over Holmes' labored breathing. "That is sufficient for now, but I will continue if my instructions are disregarded again," Blackwood said cooly.

Blackwood bent to his right and did something that Lestrade couldn't see; when he straightened, he parted the front of his garment and carefully coated his cock with more of the oil. It was obscene, that this man was aroused by inflicting such agony on others! Lestrade couldn't hold back his expression of disgust, but fortunately Blackwood wasn't looking at him.

"It's a pity that the punishment counteracted some of my preparation," he said as he shifted until he was directly behind Holmes, kneeling between his spread legs. "This will be more unpleasant than I had intended." Gripping Holmes' hips, he pulled Holmes toward him as he snapped his hips forward, sinking his full length into Holmes in one swift movement.

Holmes' face contorted in pain, his eyes squeezed shut and streaming tears, but he didn't utter a sound. Watson looked away, and was forced to face Holmes again by Coward's hands on either side of his skull, cruelly holding his head forward. Lestrade shifted uneasily; the sight of Holmes in such a state was more disturbing than he wanted to admit. The man could be infuriating, but no one deserved this . . !

Blackwood savored the moment, reaching around to stroke Holmes' swollen cock, still erect after all this time thanks to the leather binding. Holmes shuddered at his touch, turning his face away. With a squeeze, Blackwood let go and resumed his grip on Holmes' hip, slowly drawing out then thrusting quickly back in. He repeated this several more times in rapid succession, then stopped abruptly, fully sheathed in Holmes.

He grabbed the chain of the handcuffs and lifted it back over Holmes' head so Holmes' arms settled awkwardly in front of him. "Onto your hands," Blackwood ordered. When Holmes wasn't quick enough to obey, he was pushed forward, forcing him to put down his hands or risk falling on his face.

The shock of landing with force on newly-broken fingers was enough to wrench a cry from Holmes as his elbows collapsed and he fell onto his forearms, his forehead touching the floor. Blackwood clutched a handful of hair and pulled him up to where he was supposed to be, then let go and found that strands of hair still clung to his fingers. Holmes' head hung between his shoulders and his body shook with silent sobs.

"You know what happens when you make noise," Blackwood said, leaning forward. By being forced to rest on his hands, Holmes provided the necessary stability to his hand while Blackwood broke his ring finger. "And this is for lowering your head. You must always be looking at your so-called friends," Blackwood hissed as he snapped the last finger of the left hand.

"Remember, there are many more bones in the body that can be broken at will," Blackwood said when he straightened up. He leisurely drew back and thrust in a few more times, nodding in satisfaction and appearing for all the world as if he were enjoying a lazy morning interlude rather than tormenting his despised opponent.

All were silent, breathing -tormented and otherwise- the only sound besides the moist noise of oiled skin sliding in and out of a slicked opening. Blackwood slowed his rhythm even further and licked his way up Holmes' spine; Holmes arched his back in instinctive response, his eyes sliding up to meet Lestrade's briefly. His gaze, ordinarily so keen and incisive, was crazed and unfocused. Lestrade pleaded with a higher power to allow that brilliant mind to lose itself in another place, or even to desert him completely, to protect him from the remaining torment.

At long last Blackwood began to quicken his pace, each of his thrusts sending a shudder through Holmes' abused body. He took Holmes in hand again, squeezing and stroking in time with his movements, continuing to tease even as the sound of slapping flesh ceased and his semen spurted deep into Holmes. Only then did he unfasten the leather.

Holmes came almost immediately, his entire body trembling, and Blackwood made sure to hold Holmes' cock such that Holmes' belly and chest bore the brunt of the sticky release. Blackwood remained inside Holmes until Holmes' body finished spasming, then he carefully backed away and stood, covering himself with his garment. Holmes collapsed onto his side, his entire body twitching, his arms still outstretched, his ravaged hands curled unnaturally. His eyes were dull, unseeing, vacant.

"Look carefully, gentlemen. See what has become of your last hope." Blackwood used his foot to push Holmes onto his back; Holmes' arm dragged through the mess on his chest and his legs fell open to show inner thighs streaked with semen and blood.

"Cast yourself upon my mercy, and I will see that you do not regret it. Continue to resist . . ." He paused for effect. "Continue to resist, and I will use your weakness to break you."

He gave them several moments to consider his words. One of the men that lurked outside the door brought in Blackwood's robe and helped him into it. "Each of you will now be taken from this room and given the chance to repent of your defiance. If you do, you will be allowed to return and show your contempt for the man that led you astray. What form that will take is up to you, so long as he still lives when you are finished."

Curse him, the man sounded almost amused. Lestrade did his best to scan the faces of the others without moving his head. Would any of them turn traitor? He watched as they were blindfolded; more robed men streamed into the room until there were enough to have two guards escorting each man out.

When only Lestrade and Watson remained, Blackwood spoke. "You have the privilege of seeing the faces of the men you thought were loyal. You will be blindfolded after each man enters the room. As before, you are to make no noise at any point."

Then they waited, long minutes dragging by, for the first of the men to reappear. Lestrade almost hoped that the delay meant there would be none, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, there was movement in the doorway. He wished he could say he was surprised, but the man that emerged into the room was one that Lestrade had never expected to hold out even this long.

Their blindfolds appeared and the sound of slaps and punches started soon after. When they stopped, a shuffle of feet left the room and their blindfolds were removed. Lestrade expected the next man to make an appearance at any moment, but instead the faint sound of a gunshot echoed. Blackwood smiled.

Lestrade kept count as each deserter entered, preferring not to think about their names. Better to think about who had not yet appeared and thus might still be with them, though what use that could be he didn't know.

Most were not as unimaginative as the first, and perpetrated various outrages on Holmes' unresisting body. Three followed Blackwood's lead and roughly took Holmes, thrusting with abandon into Holmes until they were sated. One spit on him, choked him, and urinated on him. One turned him over then stood above him, stroking himself until he released and directed the stream over Holmes' back and into his hair. One put his cock in Holmes' mouth, fucking it over the gag, his semen causing Holmes to choke and cough as it filled his throat and mouth and ran down his chin.

Each encounter was followed by the faint echo of a gunshot; Blackwood smiled more broadly each time. It only took two before Lestrade realized that killing them was the only thing Blackwood could do with them. He couldn't let them go, for fear that the change in loyalty was only an act to gain freedom. He couldn't keep them imprisoned, or they would harbor resentment and turn against him. They had reached the end of their usefulness and were now being discarded.

Finally no more men appeared. There had been seven who turned, which left Clark, Gregson, Macmillan, and Tomski still standing with them against Blackwood. Perhaps one day they could make something of that.

Holmes was left sprawled on the floor like a discarded rag doll, covered in drying semen and still-darkening bruises, his hands swollen and useless, his eyes staring upward vacantly even as tears leaked into the damp hair at his temples. His breaths were shallow and barely moved his chest, as if the mere act of breathing pained him. Lestrade wished this was the end for Holmes, that there was a bullet waiting to be put into his brain and take him mercifully away, but he knew that was naive.

Blackwood surveyed his captive, striding back and forth as he looked first at Holmes, then at Lestrade and Watson. "You are unconvinced." Blackwood did not appear the least bit surprised. He clasped his hands and seemed to ponder this conundrum.

"What will it take, I wonder. More blood? Screams of agony?" He sounded pleased at the prospect. "I look forward to discovering the limit of your convictions." He inclined his head and four of the guards returned, standing over Lestrade and Watson as the bonds tying them to their chairs were loosened.

Lestrade was compelled to rise first and pushed in the direction of the door. He was held still momentarily next to Holmes and he couldn't help but look down. Holmes' eyes shifted slightly and focused on him, lucid for a brief moment. Lestrade shivered. Holmes knew it as well as he did: this was only the beginning.


End file.
